


Choirgirl Interlude: Black Magic

by Jennifer-Oksana (JenniferOksana)



Series: The Choirgirl Set [7]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Dark, F/M, M/M, Series, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-14
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-13 20:43:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5716417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenniferOksana/pseuds/Jennifer-Oksana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're baaack... and this time they're using a bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Choirgirl Interlude: Black Magic

**Author's Note:**

> make me laugh, say you know what you want  
> you said we were the real thing  
> so I show you some more and I learn  
> what black magic can do  
> make me laugh, say you know you can turn  
> me into the real thing  
> so I show you some more and I learn–
> 
> –“Jackie’s Strength” Tori Amos

I left my partner, my lover, my queen of the damned in an Alexandria  
hospital. She wore a dark gray suit, severely cut. I don’t know how I  
did it, but I did. I said good-bye to Scully. I memorized her image in  
that suit, a dark and somber figure on a gray and cool morning in  
Virginia.

My God. The figure engraved on my eyeballs is so beautiful, and so small.  
A miniature, perfect, divine in every detail. The copper flame of her  
hair. The ivory flawlessness of her skin. The soft round curve of her  
breasts. The gentle hourglass of her waist, her hips, her legs. But the  
angel had a few frayed edges. The delicate skin beneath her eyes was red  
and stung with the salt of tears. The hollows of her face were shaded in  
purples and blues, signs of sleepless nights and bruises bestowed by the  
violence of sorrow. Each of her fingernails were ragged, chewed up,  
probably spit out.

I left her behind, to ride into the sunset and out of the world I had  
created for us. Scully, Scully, my Miranda, my Ophelia, my Horatio, my  
daughter, my sister, my madonna, my whore, and finally, my replacement.

“Skinner told me,” she said in a voice tinged with electrical energy,  
staccato, shocking. “Do you think you’ll ever come back?”

“I don’t know,” I replied. She nodded, expectation fulfilled. “Are you  
staying with the X-Files?”

“Oh, yes,” she said. “If– when– you ever decide to come back from  
wherever you go, there will still be the X-Files.”

Unspoken words: but they will be mine, and not yours, Mulder. A fitting  
revenge, a bargain between us. She gets the X-Files, I get– what?

“I’m glad.”

“Mulder,” she said, in a voice so full of regret. “You know what you want.  
Take it. I’ll live.”

“Dana–”

“I don’t think we have anything else to say to each other. Good-bye,  
Mulder.”

Good-bye. Good-bye. Goooooodddddd-byyyyyeeee, like the last strains of  
that song in Sound of Music. That’s what I’m thinking about as I drive  
down the highway, looking for God knows what and headed the devil knows  
where. Leave of absence. It sounds nicer than resignation, which is what  
Scully has pretty much forced me to do. If I ever come back, she’ll be  
there, the X-Files will be hers, and she will be Spooky in the basement.  
That, Alanis, is ironic, not rain on your wedding day.

The time has come to think about Alex again. Krycek, Alex, Krycek, Alex–  
I can’t decide what to call him. He hasn’t been around much since my  
dramatic waking in that hospital room, but I’ve sensed that wasn’t because  
he didn’t want to be. Alex. There is something of pleasure, something of  
raw desire in the thought.

Those eyes, those glittering green eyes that sometimes lose all pretense  
of civilization and return to a state where everything is instinct,  
everything is– primitive.

Cell phone rings, and I forget that I’ve left Scully behind and she  
wouldn’t have me back if I came back on my knees, for whatever services  
she might desire. I forget that I’ve abandoned my career, whatever I  
thought was so all-consuming–

“Mulder.”

“Hey, G-Man, have the time for a little chat?”

“I have all the time in the world for you.”

“Good, because I want it. Everything. So where are you?”

“Past Richmond.”

“Good. Go to Virginia Beach.”

“What?”

“Room 345, the Virginian. And Mulder, be a good little scout and be  
prepared.”

Click. Virginia Beach. Krycek. Prepared. My brain, which is fogged by  
lust, processes this slowly, very very slowly and I almost miss the exit.  
Virginia Beach. Alex. Prepared. I stop at a nice little convenience store,  
and get prepared. Directions. Supplies. Alex. Room 345. A smile on his  
face.

“The Virginian? Are you meeting somebody special?”

Met him in a hotel, met him in a guess world, guessed anyone but you–

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Isn’t that nice?”

No. It’s not nice. It’s the fucking opposite of nice. Nice suggests  
restraint, pleasantries. Fuck that. I want the feel of strong, rough  
muscles and tough skin around me. I want a struggle, and I want I want I  
want–

“Room 345.”

I can’t remember getting here. I can’t remember anything, not driving with  
a hard-on, not finding the Virginian, not getting to the front desk, not  
why I left Washington and why I don’t care if I go back and–

“Yes, sir. You must be Mr. Mulder, sir.”

“Yeah.”

Key. Upstairs, no time for the elevator, I’ll take the stairs, it’ll  
loosen up the muscles anyway, it’ll get the blood pumping, too long in a  
car does strange things to the body, and I don’t need my ass to be–

Room 341.

Room 343.

Room 345, and I’m out of breath. Not because of the climb, either. My  
mouth is dry. I fumble with the key, trying to shove it into the lock  
and–

“Coo coo kachoo, Mrs. Robinson,” Krycek says, opening the door and letting  
me stumble through. He is quite a sight, wearing only a pair of boxer  
shorts. “Look what the cat drug in.”

I tackle him. Caveman style. Though Alex really doesn’t have enough hair  
to drag back to my dank little cavern. I pin him under me and kiss that  
smart-ass mouth quiet, devouring him. I’ve missed him. God, I’ve needed  
this.

“Mulder,” he protests. “Mulder, get the fuck off of me!”

“What?”

“There’s a very nice bed over there.”

“You want to use the bed?”

“Mulder, I don’t know if you have some sort of moral aversion to beds or  
something, but I can’t take all this caveman on the floor stuff for much  
longer. The bed, Mulder. Everything else is fine.”

I reluctantly get off of him and let him climb into bed. I grin. Caveman  
Mulder is indeed on the prowl, and he doesn’t have time to get a word in  
before I tackle him again, and silence him with another kiss over his  
luscious mouth. I have the advantage of two hands, but Alex has the  
advantage of being an opportunistic rat bastard. His hand goes immediately  
for the groin and gives it a good hard stroke. My hips buck, and he takes  
advantage of this to get into a better position.

“You miss me?”

My response is immediate, a good hard squeeze of the ass, and a shift of  
my hips. Mmm-hmm.

“My, my, aren’t we in need tonight?” he whispers, moving his mouth away  
from mine and using his tongue to tickle my neck. “I think that I might  
make you suffer, like you made me suffer.”

“Alex, you’re going to kill me.”

“Hmm. What a way to go,” he murmurs. “You want it, don’t you?”

“No.”

“Fine. I’ll go, then.”

He lets go of me and pushes me away from him. “What are you doing?”

“No games. You. Me. No ghosts, no bullshit. Tell me what I want to hear.”

“I want you. Don’t go.”

“Much better,” he replies, shifting back. “Get your clothes off.”

Under the piercing gaze of his eyes, I do what he wants. I want to do what  
he wants. I strip bare and he smiles, a warm, delighted smile.

“This is the way it should be done. Hotel floors, backseats– they’re  
difficult. C’mere.”

I move closer. He grins. “You are just begging for it, aren’t you? Hot and  
tight and wired all the way up, just the way I like it.”

His mouth surrounds a nipple, biting down ever so slightly and I groan.  
He’s manipulating me into a complete and total idiot.

“More.”

“Mmm-hmm,” he murmurs, his hand surrounding me and slowly, roughly  
jerking. The pleasure is just– I can’t think anymore. I have to have  
more.

“More.”

“Slow down,” he whispers, kissing his way down my chest, licking a path  
around the navel. “We’ve got time. I want to make it hurt.”

He’s the devil. He’s killing me. He abruptly lets go of me and climbs  
around me to the back, and that hand– one-handed he may be, but he’s got  
more moves than any cat and he is fully functional– finds my ass and  
begins to knead.

“Mine.”

“Alex, give it to me.”

“Not yet.”

Anticipation is deadly. My entire body is so tight that I think I’ll  
explode, voosh, just like Mt. St. Helens, we’ll take out the entire hotel.  
I shimmy a little, to let him know what I want, now.

“Alex.”

I want him beneath me, the muscles of his back gleaming and rough and  
sensuous. I need to feel him. I can’t deal with this touch-me-not game.  
He’s killing me–

“What do you need?”

“You. Beneath me. I need you so bad.”

“Having a hard time maintaining your cool, I see,” he murmurs, lightly  
pulling his teeth over my shoulder. I really do lose it this time, pushing  
him into position without much resistance– just enough to grind again my  
increasing need and drive me insane.

“I came prepared, too,” I mutter, pulling out the supplies.

“Good for you,” he murmurs, letting me do all the work. So help me God, he  
wants me to lose my mind. But the sound of his breathing– slowly but  
surely gaining speed and losing control– lets me know that I’m not alone  
in this madness.

Finally, finally, I’m inside, and it’s– there aren’t any words. There is  
just sensation, the words all swirl around and disappear, disappear  
against my hips, crashing against his body, disappear in the feral sound  
that comes from my mouth, disappear in the sudden movement of my hand to  
his nipple, twisting hard, vanish in the moment I help him along, feeling  
the same impossible sensations. There aren’t any words, the words are all  
rocking against his body, skin on skin, his muscles shining with sweat,  
hot hot hot and it’s hot and tight and sweet and–

“Yeah yeah yeah, oh GOD!”

He comes and screams and I’m still lost in my raptures, taking my  
pleasures harder faster faster and now and now and now now now– I lose  
all control and even the words that have disappeared scream against my  
skin as I lose it hard against him, shuddering.

Slowly the words come back. Slowly, the colors resolve into shapes.  
Slowly, my heart sounds less like thunder and more like the thump of blood  
being forced through my veins, and I feel the body beneath me and it’s  
tough and strong and sensual.

“Alex.”

“Never would have guessed you for a cuddler,” he says, as I slip out of  
him and throw an arm around him.

“I’m not.”

“So what do you call this moment we’re having right now, asshole?”

“A brief downtime before I come back and ravish you again.”

He laughs. “You’re a fucking nymphomaniac.”

“That’s a fucking nymphomaniac with an oral fixation, too, rat bastard.”

He feels so alive underneath my arm. I’m not a cuddler, and mushy love is  
definitely not the specialty of Casa Mulder, but I need to feel him, every  
part of him, so that it can be real. I need this solid, unblinking  
reality. Riding off into the sunset, turning a Gauguin and leaving my  
queen of the damned behind all seems like a dream. But this is physical,  
tangible evidence of everything.

“I expect I’ll give that fixation quite a workout, big man,” he murmurs.  
“Fuckin, I’m tired. Get off me.”

I let go. But I breathe in, remembering with each breath that this is  
real. This is real. There’s no way around it. He’s real.

I fall asleep, breathing in the reality of his presence and forgetting  
everything else but the sound of his breathing.

 


End file.
